


Experimental Child

by VampireHorse



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireHorse/pseuds/VampireHorse
Summary: Rick Sanchez, aka C-137, never complained about his life. He held a high position of chief design engineer at the largest plant of the Diamond Republic, achieved some privileges, honestly served his homeland, and all the contradictions arising in the head he filled with counterfeit alcohol. But the appearance in his life of a strange unnumbered boy puts Rick's whole life upside down, and now he is terribly and incurably ill with... irrationality.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Экспериментальный Ребенок](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/561457) by VampireHorse. 



The pencil moved easily on a paper sheet, leaving a flat, greasy line.  
Rick didn't even have to look at the drawing to avoid making a mistake - letting himself take his eyes off the work, he looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall.  
The hands of the clock, trembling, dragged in a circle, just as they always do, and Rick would like to hurry.  
Through his monitor - one of the many - he could see the ground floor begin to work. Synchronously smiling, synchronously shaking hands and sitting down for the same jobs to work in a single rhythm until lunch.

They were allowed no more than three breaks, but Rick, frankly, had to go down to press the electroshock button every time someone started counting crows. He himself was a sinner at times, too...  
Underlings in the same gray overalls, they all worked, embodying the ideas of those who in all senses were higher. His ideas.  
As chief design engineer of "Prizm", the largest factory in the Diamond Republic, Rick Sanchez did not complain about his life. He had a separate office, a bigger ration and even a good salary. Well, like a paycheck he hadn't seen in his seventy years of life, they were immediately transferred to coupons...  
That's how he sat in his office, with a transparent visor preventing grey hair from falling on his forehead, and scratching the faded signs on his neck - "C-137" - would have been sitting there until his death if, suddenly, right here on this fucking day, the door to his office hadn't suddenly opened with a primordial rumble.  
\- Sorry, I'm... I'm... I'm late!  
The old engineer's eyes were suddenly struck by a nauseating yellowness. Squinting, he silently stared at some boy in a chicken-colored jumpsuit, who dared to burst into him so unpretentious, and not even immediately found something to answer.  
\- La-te...? - he repeated this heresy in syllables, reducing the only eyebrow on his nose. - Are you fucking nuts?  
When he heard the rude word, the jerk squeaked and stretched out the string:  
\- I'm sorry, sir!  
The man who was a minute late was stealing time from the Republic itself, so Sanchez, alarmed at the invasion, had already begun to look vindictively for the idiot's personal number with his eyes, and froze surprised not to see a trace of ink on his thin neck. Only the letters embroidered on the chest pocket of the jumpsuit - "E.C."...  
\- What's your name?  
\- Mm-hmm... Mortimer Smith, sir!  
\- That's not what I'm asking, - Rick wince. - What's your number?  
\- I-I don't have it, sir...  
What a fucking miracle - turns out this lip-slap has no number!  
\- What do you mean, you don't?!  
\- It's a long story, sir...  
Since the number is the first thing a citizen of the Republic got between a slap on the ass from an obstetrician and a smallpox vaccination, the story really promised to be long, but the designer did not want to listen to it at all.  
\- Okay, whatever, - he waved, looking at this disgusting yellow boy from head to toe. - Where did you came from?  
What a wanker - probably no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, shredded chestnut curls sticking out in all directions, in huge brown eyes so confused, as if he was driven into a cage with tigers, not in the design office ...  
\- I'm... I'm from the Educational Fringe, sir. I-I've been sent to you on a p-program of career guidance...  
And he pulled a pile of papers out of a leather bag hanging over his shoulder.  
\- The schoolboy, - said Rick, as he ran his eye over them. - How old are you?  
\- Sixteen-years-old, sir...  
Wow - the kid obviously looked younger than his age, which clearly will not benefit him in the future. Look, they may won't allow him to reproduce!  
However, it's better for the gene pool of the Republic...  
\- Why wasn't I fucking warned in advance, - Rick threw the papers away and covered his face with his hand. - And what am I supposed to do with you?  
\- Y-you have to help me make some drawings for the report, sir...  
As there's nothing else he would do!  
He would have said a lot of nice things about the Edge of Education, which dumped some schoolboy on his head, but he had no choice.  
Luckily he had enough room on his desk to move a little, so he sat Morty down in the second chair and, leaving him with a brief explanation of his homework, continued his work, occasionally looking at the monitor.  
When he saw someone unfolding solitaire game on the work computer, he pressed a button and the lazybones jumped in place, getting electroshocked by the chair.  
Morty carefully poked something on paper, sticking out the tip of his tongue, and looking at him, Rick somehow thought that if he had a worker like that, his little ass would have to be fried all the time...  
And it wasn't wrong suggestion.  
\- What's that?! - The finished result has made the old man's feel of beauty hurt. - It's crooked, do it again!  
When Morty got in, he shamefully started to fix himself, and Rick went on to work. He finished the estimates, a couple of simple blueprints, electrocuted a few more bipods, and it wasn't until then that the kid finally finished...  
Speed like a tortoise, but brain with a size of a pea!  
\- Morty, I told you, - he smacked himself on the forehead. - You're making the same mistakes again, aren't you dumb?!  
He's a sourpuss, with his lips inflated, and he seems to have almost cried, but Rick didn't care about his tender feelings.  
The Career Guidance Program offered every schoolkid preparing to enter adult life a chance to try his hand at many professions and one day take his place among the working class of the Diamond Republic, but where to go with this criminal yellow element remained a mystery.  
Rick had never seen a more twisted fucker in his life!  
\- Fuck, - he whispered, snatching Morty's blueprint exhausted from constant contact with the eraser. - Y-You can't do that for as long as you do, уou asshole, piece of shit, motherfucker...  
\- Y-You've exceeded the limit, - the jerk suddenly told him, sniffing his nose, and Rick was sedated.  
\- What?  
\- Y-You've exceeded the limit, - the schoolboy quietly but firmly told him. - The government of the Republic has set a limit on the use of obscene words: no more than three times a day... Y-You can't just throw swearwords around!  
\- I can and will, and here's dessert, - the old man had a dramatic pause. - Fuck you!  
Damn, how did he want to get drunk.  
It's a shame to admit that Rick even felt a slight prick of conscience for his swearing.  
Against his will, he remembered his own internship, how difficult it was to find a place where he could fit in, but at least he stood out with his intellect among other schoolkids, which is not exactly what you would say about this...  
\- Shoo, - Sanchez took Morty's half-dead blueprint and crumpled it and threw it straight in the trash. - Fuck it all...  
Delivering a blank sheet of paper, he began his usual, decades of work movements to do his homework for this prick.  
He did it once or twice, and the boy looked at him like a wizard, slightly frightened and slightly opened his mouth...  
"What a horseshit," Rick thought it was kind of touch.  
The hands have reached the right place. All "Prism" shuddered from the siren, the same people downstairs synchronously quit work and went to the dining room, and he gave this strange schoolboy with no number hand.  
\- Well... Shall we go to lunch, or what?


	2. Chapter 2

Finally it was time for lunch - Morty hadn't had much breakfast because he was in a hurry, so he could use a boost to his productivity.  
Ahead of them was a slender crowd, a mishmash of gray jumpsuits and shaved necks, the workers seemed to have been selected for height, and he and his pitiful hundred and sixty centimeters would surely have been lost if it hadn't been for the C-137, which held him firmly under his elbow.  
The chef on the handout measured, exactly the robot on the conveyor, waving the ladle, dropping on plates the same scones of lumpy mashed potatoes with a couple of peas upside.

They all walked and walked past long tables with benches, and the chief engineer kept dragging him somewhere until they found themselves in some... wiggle room.  
There were very different tables, small and round, and there were chairs with twisted backs and upholstered chairs around them.  
\- Hello, Mr. Sanchez! - Another cook, whose lush breasts could hardly hide her uniform, had a funny hello, and the old man, without answering his smile, nodded grimly.  
Did he end up in the dining room for the bosses?  
Judging by the small number of people who occupied this place, Morty was not mistaken, and his heart was beating in his chest more than it should.

In front of him was a portion of food that was very different from that presented in the common room, for God's sake, he'd even been given a cupcake with a tiny strawberry upstairs!  
\- How long? - Mr. Sanchez was winding spaghetti with meat sauce on his fork. - I mean, how long are you gonna bug me with your presence?  
\- Uh, well, a month to three, - the guy's touching. - And-and if you give me a reference, the Educational Fringe will allow me to remain your apprentice...  
\- I don't fucking think so!  
And Mr. Sanchez laughed hoarsely, exposing his big yellowish teeth.  
In that day, he'd already sweared on Morty, done his homework and even fed him, so what's next?  
It's true that under the engineer's gaze the food wasn't going down his throat.  
\- You look strange, - said C-137, leaning over his desk. - I've never seen anything more suspicious fu...  
He suddenly coughed up.  
\- A smacker than you! Spit it out, kid, where's your number? And these initials, it's like, - he gestured Morty's chest pocket. - They don't sound right for Mortimer Smith, do they?  
Well, that's not news anymore.  
He was used to making excuses for not having a number, it's been an automatic habit for a long time, but this time the explanation was hard for some reason.  
\- "E.C." is... He swallowed it. - It means "Experimental Child"...  
As you'd expect, the announcement had the effect of a bomb exploding.  
Mr. Sanchez choked on his coffee and jumped up and exclaimed:  
\- Oh, really?!  
And immediately, he put his head in his shoulders, because they started to squint on them from all sides.  
\- Really? - And then he lowered his voice and asked. - So, you're the result of the savages' love that all the newspapers have written about?!  
Morty flashed with resentment.  
\- It's not proven yet, - he muttered with his eyes down. - M-my background is still a mystery...  
Here we go again!  
The boy has long ago put up with his, to put it mildly, suspended status in society, but how hard it is sometimes to prove that there is nothing savage in you, there is nothing and never was, and you, damn it all, deserve your own number!  
No matter how many educators he got with this question, they always said that the question of giving him a number would only come up on the day of his majority, provided he behaved well and proved his right to be a faithful citizen of the Republic of Brillantes...  
Morty's been proving that right for sixteen years, with only three left. He tried his best, but because of the slight delay in development, it wasn't easy.  
And, of course, a lot of people associated that delay with "savage genes"...

However, despite his status, he lived roughly the same life as all teenagers in the Republic - he was recently allowed to go out without an accompanying teacher, and he embarked on a long winding road of preparation for adult life.  
Three free hours a day assigned to each citizen, the young man liked to spend wandering the streets. Sitting in the park with ice cream or just walking among the angularly symmetrical buildings on perfectly clean streets, he liked to be alone, not in a pile of bouldering babies, without teachers ready to yank for every embarrassing movement ...  
And he also didn't want to go back to the dorm.

But this time it all came out a little differently - now Morty was wandering among the unfamiliar buildings, clutching his document file to his chest and habitually raising his jumpsuit collar up so as not to cause a slanting look at his unmarked neck.  
In the afternoon, Mr. Sanchez suddenly began to complain of a headache and asked at the infirmary, saying that he would take the work at home, and so he forgot the job, so Morty was told to bring the drawings to the engineer at home.  
And he, as an obedient boy, did this assignment without even knowing what it would lead to...  
***  
\- Ehhh, fuck, - since no one was around, Rick could afford any vocabulary. - Well, what do we have here?  
Chattering whiskey in a glass, he'd drive his dry fingers on the mouse wheel, leafing through a 16-year-old Internet article.  
The case was loud then - on the outskirts of the state, at the very border with the territory of the detractors, they found a newborn boy wrapped in one blanket. Light in weight, but quite viable, with an un-dried piece of umbilical cord on his stomach, he immediately caused a noise with his mere existence.  
As a perfect state, the Republic simply could not allow the presence of an uncertified child on its territory, but on the other hand, this baby could become the object of a major scientific discovery.  
Could the wildness in man be eradicated through proper socialization? Will it be possible to make this child a full-fledged citizen of the Republic, and if so, will it not be the key to the final solution of the problem with the detached? Such questions were asked by the Scientific Edge, and it was decided - the initial decision to eliminate the child was postponed, and gradually everything went back to the track.  
Even in such a measured life, as they led, all the bad sooner or later forgotten, and gradually the savage baby disappeared from the information field. Dissolved, like all children, in the close world of the Educational Boundary with its soft beds, the same toys and constant itching from vaccinations ...

In the past, the new generation was brought up by a poor cell of society called the family, but since then everything has changed. The role of mother and father was taken over by the state, and the children gradually faded away, vanished away with their fucking classics and ropes as underdeveloped elements.  
Children are chaos, children are destruction and disobedience, completely unnecessary to the Republic. That's why they were kept as far away from everyone as possible until the little drooling assholes were fenced off enough to be in a decent society...  
That's the only reason they put that bratty child in his care?! Pretty sure he's got even more problems than a regular kid!

Rick was reading the article until he started to ruffle his eyes. Whiskey pounded, tried not to think about anything, but fucking yellowness kept drilling into his brain.  
He even asked from work not to see this embodiment of indecision! This boy just pissed him off, pissed him off, and, as if out of spite, someone rang the doorbell...  
Well, who the fuck would have thought!  
\- Mr. Sanchez...?  
In a thieving glance, he dragged his underachiever into the apartment, forgetting about the palm.  
\- Y-you... are you drinking?!  
Watching Morty outragedly reduce his eyebrows, Rick couldn't contain the laughter.  
\- N-no, bitch, eating, - and he winked and waved a half-empty glass. - W-what, you gonna squeal on me, huh?  
That's a moral choice the bastard clearly didn't want to stand up to.  
\- No, no, no, no... but it's poison! And alcohol in our Republic...  
\- Forbidden, and I k-know it without you, smart fucker, - bubbled C-137, waving his hand. - What the fuck are you doing here?  
_The job, of course. Who else needs you besides work, you old motherfucker?_  
\- T-Thank you, - he threw the papers on the nightstand in the hallway. - I'll take care of it later...  
And looking at the guy who was leaving, he suddenly said he didn't expect it from himself:  
\- Wait!  
Morty with perplexity has turned around, and C-137 has frozen on a place, feverishly thinking over, what to tell, _why you have stopped him, why, what you the moron, what you_...  
\- Would you like a whiskey?  
Of course, the savage outraged rejected the treat, looking at him as if Sanchez had offered to eat a dead toad, so he had nothing left to do but finish the glass himself.  
And then it suddenly came to him.  
\- Wait, are you... Are you trying to bring me blueprints in your spare time?  
_It's so fucking sweet, it just makes me puke._  
\- Yeah, yeah, kind of... Well, shall I go?  
\- Stop!  
Rick must have had too much to drink, but the numbers still add up perfectly in his head.  
\- The free time will be over in half an hour, - he said, looking at the wristwatch. - Then there will be a curfew for minors, y-you ... will you make it home in time?  
Morty's eyes are rounded.  
\- N-no... Oh, shit!  
This really hasn't been a very good situation.  
\- W-what do I do?! If I don't get marked in the dorm...  
\- Nothing, I'll write an explanation, - C-137 hiccups. - I-I... I'm not the last person here, M-morty... I'll write that I needed urgent help or something, and you... and you sleep at my place.  
\- W-w-was it...?  
And when did Rick get to be a good fucking Samaritan?  
It would be better throw the lousy guy outside and let him explain to the police, but he'd walk the little guy into the living room.  
\- My bedroom is being renovated, - he explained, waving his hand at the sofa. - We'll sleep here, but in the meantime...  
And he went to the window all over the wall, which had a film hanging from the eaves, so transparent that you won't even notice it immediately.  
He pressed a few buttons in the wall and proudly explained to Morty, who was quiet:  
\- It's... it's like a projector. Shows me on the street tapes of me busy with the usual things, when I do something out of the ordinary... - and the old man put his finger on it. - If you report, I'll kill you, all right?  
\- Okay, sir...  
It's been a long time since anyone has come to C-137, even scary to remember.  
Though, in fact, he didn't need anybody - they will tell the police that he was in places he doesn't need to go, that he drinks, curtains the windows and does many other things!  
Strangely enough, Rick didn't see any threat in this kid, just scare him off, and he'd rather die than rattle...  
They didn't talk, just throwing common phrases.  
Morty read the geometry textbook, Rick fiddled with his computer until the children's curfew siren went off on the street.  
\- Are you gonna lie down? Will you turn off the lights?  
\- Y-yeah, but the lights... The lights are off. I'm still gonna lay down...  
The jumpsuit clasp with a slight squeal unzipped, and the kid was left undressed, all in white. White T-shirt, white underwear, white socks - everything is so shaped, but at the same time so... clean?  
It was a different world, a world of half-maturity, half-childhood, suddenly visiting the apartment of an old engineer, and for some reason he could not concentrate.  
A computer with an open e-mail was shimmering in front of his eyes, and he wasn't, and he was mowing his eyes at this savage child, which spread so freely on his sofa. He stretched out, crossed thin legs and embraced the pillow as if it were a usual teddy bear, and the light from the monitor danced on a strip of bare skin between the elastic band of underwear and a T-shirt ...  
Another siren.  
Reconfiguring the projector, Rick turned off the light and, accompanied by an unfamiliar look, also injected a zipper jumpsuit.  
He stayed in his sweater and, carelessly throwing it away, lay down, taking up most of the couch.  
What did the ancient people would say?  
\- Good night, M-morty.  
\- G-good night, Mr. Sanchez...


	3. Chapter 3

This night was a real challenge for Morty because it was the first time he'd shared a bed with someone, and even more so with someone who took up so much space and snorted so much.  
Mr. Sanchez was very different from all the adults he knew. He was noisy, sharp, he fought a lot and he broke the rules, _hell, he looked more like a savage than I did_...  
Sunlight was shining through the aquarium wall of the windows. The streets were still empty, citizens still slept in their beds, ready at any moment to get up and wrap up in the universal mechanism of life, but so far - they had the last half hour of peace.  
\- What are you staring at?  
As he rubbed his knuckles in his eyes, Rick looked hard at Morty, who was hovering over him, and he turned away.  
\- N-nothing, sir...  
Having measured the small suspicious look, the engineer got out of bed, desperately yawning.  
\- Come, - he left, waving his hand. - I see we both can't sleep anymore...  
Get out of bed before the siren bell? Morty's never had the guts to do that before.  
The touch of the cold floor to his feet seemed strangely pleasant, and he, quietly sprinkled his fist, followed the C-137 on tiptoes, just a little thief with more than half an hour in his pocket...

The kettle whistled muffled, spitting smoke out of its nose, and Rick confidently poured boiling water over two bags of food concentrates, not the kind of shit they gave away to everybody; there was even something floating in them that looked like tiny pieces of meat, and he stared at the fucking boy.  
A boy who lets himself chat with his feet at the table and gloom a little, trying to get the brown cubes out of his plate, a boy who's about to hide his starchy whiteness behind a yellow jumpsuit, a boy who shouldn't even be here...  
He's a shaggy, sunny dandelion head on a perfectly swollen lawn. He's an Experimental Child, something unexplored, something you can't label and fit into an orderly system. Something that needs to be taken apart and examined under a microscope, finding out everything you can learn. Without leaving a drop of unpredictability, or a single percentage of what it can change its properties and behavior - will it work?  
_Will it work?_

As promised, Rick wrote an explanation, and since they were on their way anyway, they went to work together.  
Everything went back on track and turned around - short greetings to colleagues, e-mail parsing...  
The old man frowned, cursing through his teeth, receiving a letter through a personal channel from one of the bosses, who "expressed perplexity" about the fact that he had invited to the dining room at the top of some apprentice, and could barely resist pressing the button "delete".  
Despite this unfortunate incident, life went on, and had to work - turning on the program, he cheerfully clicked on the keys while Morty, a snivel, cut the next drawing.  
\- And what do you do, sir? - Suddenly the kid asked, watching the strange models on the monitor, and Sanchez smiled, ready to brag.  
\- This, Morty, will be called a reproducer, - he said proudly as he moved his mouse. - This baby will allow us to get new citizens without using mother bodies!  
\- Wow... How's that?  
\- I'm... I'm... I'm not gonna stuff your little pumpkin with information you won't understand anyway, M-Morty... Just know that this machine will load donor ovaries that will connect to donor sperm, and after a couple of cycles of genetic replication, we get viable embryos, which then grow in an incubation chamber without compromising the health and ability to work of the female population... Well, what do you think, b-bitch?  
How easy it was to impress him.  
\- It's... it's just amazing, Mr. Sanchez, you... you must be a genius!  
What do you mean, "maybe"?  
What's to hide, Rick liked to have someone please his virtual dick. Even if it was some stupid kid doing it.  
Stupid and with really, really crooked hands...  
\- What the fuck is that, Morty? What the fuck is that?!  
\- Uh, it's a... it's a bolt head section...  
\- You should be beating that head on your forehead, - C-137 rolled his eyes and pulled the kid off the chair. - Get in my seat!  
Since the table had a rising lid in his place, it should have worked more comfortably, but Morty didn't even seem to have saved it.  
\- Boy, I can't take it anymore, - Rick slapped him on the back. - Stop hunching! And I'm robbing mine properly...  
Of course, he had to put them on his own, unceremoniously holding Morty with one hand under his elbow and the other by his wrist.  
\- Is t-this, like, like the first time you've climbed a chick?! Stop shaking, - he said, holding Morty's fingers in the right position, and the old man drew a line for him in the right place. - Now, let's do thiiiis...  
Oh, God have mercy. And this guy's gonna be an adult in three years?! He will go to the Consent March, work, get coupons, give up his seeds twice a year and be considered a full citizen of the Republic - what a horror!  
He's not going to draw a triangle flat, but the same...  
The modeling of the reproduser somewhat stalled, because Sanchez had to do a lot of work with his stupid apprentice, who could only clap his eyes, sniff, puff and over and over again draw a curve of fucking nonsense - what a lucky thing that the end of this torture finally put dinner!  
Of course, Rick was sitting at his desk alone. He can not attract the extra attention of his superiors, and still look at him, ignoring the other food, sharpened on a transparent bag of cake with a vulgar fondant curl upside.  
The other "Prizm" cones ate quickly, talking about something quietly among themselves, and he was dumb and stupid over his tray until, leaving the food almost intact, he finally left, cleverly hiding a damn piece of dough up his sleeve.  
\- H-here, - he practically threw Morty's cake and, coughing, turned away. - I don't like baked goods...  
At least he found out something, got it out, confirmed it. He drew an axiom on the white sheet of his own mind - "children love sweets" - and the Experimental Child became, perhaps, somewhere by a percentage more systematized.

They went on work, they went from work, and the unity breaks down into three free hours, which Rick spends with a glass of martini, looking at the city from the height of his living space.  
Everything is perfect, everything is in order - the Fringes, where ordinary people lived and where the headquarters of different Frontiers were located, the Rundist, an outpost of the army and police, which separates the Crown wall with the Main Square, which was opened only on large holidays. Everything is clean, everything is perfect, everything is exactly the same as Rick saw him and a small cunt, and young men, and a middle-aged man, and everything will be the same when he is gone ...  
It's gonna happen pretty soon, isn't it?

Luckily, C-137 didn't complain about it, but he's already seventy. Seventy calendars thrown away, seventy heartbeats of a great empire - is it much or little?  
No one leaves without a trace. Rick, like everyone else, worked honestly for the Republic, honestly jerked off into a jar, giving his sperm to the state, but sooner or later the day will come when he will not be needed. Even the most important element of the mechanism will fail one day, and that is all. A shot to the neck, a typical wooden box and another, like everyone else, a monument on the grave - that's the future that awaits him ...  
There was no contradiction in that. It was the course of life, and yet Rick became bitter - he must have had too much to drink again.  
However, he had a great way of cheering himself up - Colett. The narrowest part of the Republic, unofficially nicknamed Dirty Fringe, there were places where the outcast females met other people's sexual needs, and he, among others, had a couple of coupons obtained through comrades anal sex ...  
That's what he was decided.  
There's no reason to yearn for the sunset of his life when you can have fun, so Rick, hiding a bottle of vodka behind his sinus and wrapped his mouth with a scarf so as not to emit the smell of booze, went roundabout to Coletta.  
He had to scavenge through the sagging sheds to find an iron door with a modest handwritten ad that said, "Accommodation is only after full payment".  
\- Hello, what can I get you?  
He was opened by a skinny, long-legged girl with chestnut hair, dressed in a lace nightie with protruding threads. The number on her neck was thickly painted black, and her nipples sticking out through the cheap synthetics of her underwear...  
\- M-maybe... Maybe you, baby?  
She reminded Morty's designer for some reason, and he had fun fantasizing that she could be the sister of that schmuck, second foundling, Experimental Slut...  
There's almost no boobs, no ass either, and okay - for some reason Rick couldn't wait to fuck that savage girl, and he didn't hesitate to hug her at the waist.  
\- Let me walk you out, - the hallway wobbled a little before his eyes.  
The boardwalk door squeaked, and Rick fell first on the mattress, dragging the girl after him. He didn't even give a fuck about the fact that they didn't close.  
Fun was what he wanted, tilting her on her stomach and wrapping dark curls around his fist.  
Fun is what he felt when he offered her vodka with his tongue wrapped in itself.  
_Fun is the best way to get away from controversy..._


	4. Chapter 4

***  
Even the most perfect system sometimes fails.  
Morty was officially assigned to Rick for help, but in fact the kid was only adding to the trouble with his stupidity and misunderstanding, taking up the time he could have spent on the job.  
Rick could just go down to the shop to check on the quality of the new product and come back to his place to work on the design of the datasheets, but instead he had to take the fucking Educational Fringe tour.  
Morty slapped after him like a duck behind his duck mama, humbly listening to all the explanations of the old man and hardly understanding a word, the helmet constantly went to his forehead, and he was panting, trying to correct it imperceptibly...  
But the main system failure was just waiting for them ahead.  
\- Crash! Crash!  
It could be called an accident with a tension, just one bumpy worker turned the valve in the wrong direction, and the increased pressure caused a thin pipe to burst, which sprayed the dark blood of fuel.  
And it had to happen that the C-137 and its apprentice were right in the line of fire!  
Morty froze in full shock - only his bulging eyes stood out on his black face - and Rick, squeaking his teeth, went ramming on a frightened worker trying to close the valve with his shaking hands...  
\- Fucker!  
A scream shook the whole shop, the other rooms were frightened pressed against each other, and he pressed the button to turn off the equipment, defiantly wiped a dirty palm of his hand against the overalls.  
\- I'll report this to management, - he whispered, and he grabbed Morty under his elbow and proudly withdrew.  
There were many greasy, smelly marks left behind, all the way to the shower.  
Most likely Rick would have to pay hardly for the outburst of emotion, all right, he had no regrets. All the more reason to forgive him for his intellect and position a little more than others...  
\- There's spare clothes here, - said C-137, absolutely calmly, digging with a clean hand in cabinets. - Lucky for us, y-yes, Morty?  
His hoarse laughter was unsupported, and it's no wonder he's hurt a lot harder, and you're gonna wipe that stinking shit off!

Sanchez had never had a problem waving his own dick, so he walked into the shower, like this place sure to be a fun place somewhere at the end of Colett.  
Morty, on the other hand, sneaked into the stall almost half-bent, carefully closing his humble teenage junk, and the water rustled, flushing the fuel down the drain whirlpool.  
Usually showers were full, naked meat flickering in front of his eyes with no purpose or meaning, just like a shoal of scale-free fish, but today Rick made another small discovery - underneath yellow and white Morty was hiding... pink.  
It was a small, skinny body, with sharp corners of scapulae and shoulders and a dotted vertebrae, the maximum of which was different from his shell, old, stringy, swollen. Hair almost no - only a barely noticeable path of down on the abdomen closer to the pubis and curly almost as on the head, vegetation between the legs. Puppet-like small feet and palms, soft pink-peachy roundness of the ass, the skin is so thin that it seems almost transparent, and there is something foreign in it ...  
The eye-catching bruises on the back and legs against the will, like accidental splashes of excess blue paint on the finished canvas.

Rick didn't say a word, Rick simply washed fuel from his own hair over forehead, ruthlessly wasting public shampoo. He wiped the foam over his head, making sure the guy didn't see it out of the way of attention.  
And he really didn't notice, too immersed in scrubbing himself off the black shit. It's for the best!  
Rick felt no desire to be held accountable for that irrational waste of his own gaze.

They had spare clothes, but even the smallest of them was not suit for Morty's. He had to roll up his sleeves and pants, and he looked like the children of antiquity who had to take dress after... what was it called, after their big sisters?  
Dressed up, the boy still smelled a little technically infuriating, and Rick came out first, and his hands were working on their own while he wiped his own chest.  
The sight of him followed Morty incessantly...

*** 

\- Oh, please, Mr. Sanchez, help me, this is a very important test, and I... I don't understand anything! It's... it's a very difficult task...  
\- What, you have to draw a square?  
Dammit boy's got his mind blown asking for help, because obviously all of Rick's explanations flew in one his ear and out the other.  
Eventually got tired of whining, he agreed to help, and there was a sudden crash at work, and Morty didn't have time left.  
And, of course, he had to take this idiot in on his own time...  
What an unbearable pussy. Not only does he not understand shit, so do not fuck around with him more than three times, do not take a drink - immediately get an angry look and a lecture on the rules of conduct!

At leisure, C-137 liked to hanging out with all sorts of bullshit, so now, explaining to the young man where to put a ruler and how to calculate the scale, he parallel picked a screwdriver most ordinary light, bought recently in the store "All for half a coupon".  
So time flew by unnoticed, and they both slipped through the moment when the hand was threateningly close to the curfew.  
\- S-shit, - Morty jumped up, raking the papers off the table. - I'm late again, w-what kind of bad luck is that?! I was badly scolded last time, I-I don't want to do it again!..  
\- Wait a minute.  
So it's time for the best part. Running into the pantry, Rick rolled something covered with cloth.  
\- Voila! - and by pulling off the cloth, he showed the world... another Morty.  
The real Experimental Child even had his jaw fall off when he saw an exact copy of himself.  
\- Y-you... h-how?!  
\- Nothing complicated, - the designer began to look at his own fingernails. - It was just boring one night, yeah, and I made this robot for fun... It still needs work, but it's quite capable of replacing you on roll call. So, shall we turn on this handsome guy?  
A good boy in Morty's head got into a fight to see the miracle of technological progress, and the outcome of that fight was obvious.  
With exactly three farewell swings of his hand, the robot left and they stayed.  
\- I-I'm very embarrassed to burden you, Mr. Sanchez, really...  
\- Forget it, - the old man waved. - You'd better finish your test!  
Here we go, they'll sleep together again. If Rick knew this was gonna happen, he'd have to hurry up and fix his bedroom!  
But since the bedroom wasn't ready yet, they had to sleep on the same couch again, which was a little depressing.

The siren howled, and everything immediately drowned in silence - life was put on pause.  
\- Will you still be working, sir?  
\- No, - Rick reached out, crunching his old bones. - I'm tired today, I'm going to lie down early... But I'll show you the trick first, would you like some?  
\- A trick? What's the trick?  
Kids like tricks - he heard that somewhere and was going to check it out.  
Morty climbed under the blanket and put his palm under his cheek and watched his movements closely, waiting for the miracle.  
There were no miracles, just one cheap lamp...  
When the C-137 turned it on, it flashed in all directions, stars dancing on the ceiling, and galactic nebulae slowly crawled on the wallpaper.  
\- Wow!  
Space was spinning around them, and they were the center of it - Rick and Morty. The old alcoholic and the little fool...  
The couch was a little squeaky when the engineer climbed on it, putting his hands behind his head.  
\- Morty, have you ever heard of... baseball?  
\- Baseball? - The kid frowned on his forehead when he heard a word he didn't know. - N-no, what's that?  
\- It was an ancient game, - the old man yawned. - They were running around the field with sticks and throwing balls at each other, and the field was like a diamond... Just like our Republic, isn't it funny?  
Saturn flew right past them with all the rings.  
\- They were running around with sticks and balls, maybe... maybe our life is a game that the ancients started, and on a cosmic scale it really just looks like a meaningless run...?  
Of course it doesn't. Of course, one day mankind will break out into space and spill the seeds of its progress into other worlds, but lying on the sofa under the night sky, and not say a little blasphemous words?  
\- _Baseball_ , - Morty repeated, snorting and whipping his nose funny. - M-maybe space thinks of us as stupid people with sticks, but I...  
And closing his eyes, he accidentally threw his head back on C-137's shoulder.  
\- But I think about space that it's beautiful...


	5. Chapter 5

\- The Crown Party and personally our people's father Jeweler reports cases of a mysterious disease known as... - the news anchor took a dramatic pause. - "Individuality."  
Quickly chewing a bread with a thin layer of butter concentrate, Rick listened by the edge of his ear to a report about how several citizens in different parts of the Republic were struck by a disease that caused deviations in behavior and prevented them from performing their duties, but by the efforts of the Healing Fringe the individuality in them was defeated. They also showed the cured, who went to work with blissful smiles and seams crossing their foreheads...

Rick's life has turned into some shit since he was assigned to a part-time intern, but basically everything remained the same.  
Almost.  
They'd sometimes use a robot and sleep on the same couch like full dipshits. For the sake of those nights, Rick even modified the lamp, adding the underwater mode, and when Morty, watching a holographic shark float a meter away, suddenly clung to his hand, the old C-137 motor somehow shortened for a couple of seconds.  
They were lying very close, touching with their bare knees. They looked at the stars and fucking artificial fish, they laughed silly jokes and had lazy conversations about nothing. They were accomplices to the same crime.  
It was hard to say what it was, but the Rundis dogs can always find out where and how exactly you fucked up. And the trick here is definitely lurking somewhere...

Rick realized it was painfully sharp one morning when he opened his eyes an hour before the siren and saw that a crumpled blanket was lying at his feet. It lay like an unnecessary rag, and Morty sniffed at his side, approaching too hard, dangerously trusting. Sleeping, squeezing a ball and putting out a naked waist with two dimples from under his shirt, opening his lips as if he wanted to say something and fell asleep without agreeing - and Rick, not knowing why, froze, hovering over him in his outstretched arms.  
_What do children smell like?_  
He was not interested in what they smelled "en masse", but only one, experimental, stuck in his head with a swarm of unanswered questions, and he ... he satisfied his sick curiosity.

Just a few seconds, his nostrils greedily suck air - washing powder. Shampoo with some kind of gum, chemical perfume, the smell of skin, hair, the smell of _Morty_ , he can smell it in his lungs before he wakes up and, jumping out of bed, tiptoe to run to the bathroom.  
His legs were shaking, and, with cold water on his face, Sanchez was swearing through his teeth - savage kid! An unexplored unit, causing a short circuit in his brain, will one day be defeated!  
Defeated. Systematized. Safe as an article with pictures from a scientific journal - "The study of Mortimer Smith's habits and behaviour, Part 50"...  
Morty was a problem, but luckily, at least they paid a bonus for messing with him.  
After getting an unscheduled heap of coupons, Rick didn't even know what to do with them at first, and the option came up pretty soon - Colett and the whores, of course!  
What more could he want, right?  
Rick confidently walked to his goal, whistling on his way, and pulled his devil past the bookstore!  
_I'm just gonna go in and see_ , he kept saying to himself. _Just to look, just to_...  
God damn it!  
\- Uh... is that for me?  
Of course, Morty didn't expect to get a thick drawing and graphics book from his boss, but Rick knew how to surprise.  
\- Of course, y-you, - he snorted, with his hands on his chest. - Maybe you'll be a little less stupid!  
He coped with the bewilderment caused by the surprise of the gift and pressed the book against him, saying:  
\- Thank you, sir! - gave the old man a completely illegal smile. So illegal that he almost had a heart attack...  
Something's been jamming his body too often!  
The Republic had its own cure for that, a day off. The unfinished part of their world order, during which people were separated, and it was difficult to make a single thing out of them, but one day this problem will be solved ...

Until they came up with a single holiday for everyone, Rick was hanging out at his home, weary of longing - to whores he did not want to, he was tired of drinking (for some reason!), the work did not stick, and in the end, when he almost turned into a slurry of idleness, a brilliant thought came to his mind....  
Why not go see Morty?  
The idea seemed absurd at first, and it captured him more and more - why not? After all, he's got a lousy kid hanging out all the time, eating his concentrates and dusting his holograms, and he's never even had one!  
After all, it's worth checking if Morty's doing his homework, because he's probably sitting on his pink little ass for some nonsense...

Joyfully smiling, Sanchez is on his way.  
This fucking hostel was far enough away from his house, but he, driven from somewhere by the desire to see a kid that had already stood across his throat, was not going to stop at anything.  
Rick left the this house to his rightful nineteen and didn't tell him to feel sorrow for this, and still something rattled through his heart when he saw the blocks of flats.  
That's how he used to grow up, and what has changed since then? Oh, fuck it. The fucking continuity of generations...  
\- The purpose of the visit?  
The old whore at the entrance drilled him with a gaze like the last fed from the Rundist, but Rick didn't flee, coming up with some supposedly convincing reason to visit. Got a room number and, of course, rushed in there like that pretzel from the balcony of an ancient book to his woman...  
\- M-morty?  
The door was suddenly unlocked. By pushing it, C-137 could only whistle.  
\- Mr. Sanchez? Wh-wh-what are you doing here?!  
And sobbing Morty, in total shock, taked away an ice pack from his black eye...


	6. Chapter 6

Frankly, life in a numbered world has never been easy for Morty.  
They've all been told stories about savages from childhood. About these beasts, covered in wool, with huge teeth and claws, these pitiless creatures, lurking in the darkness of the impenetrable forest surrounding the Republic, and then Morty, when he heard the nickname of himself, felt only bitter resentment from injustice.  
He had no fur, no claws, and no fangs, and did not want to harm anyone, and tried his best to prove that he was not a savage!

He tried to prove that he was not a savage, pretending not to hear ridicule. He did his best to heal bruises and cry quietly into his pillow after his humiliation, but today he was especially unlucky to be caught by Frank Paliki and his friends.  
\- You think you're better than us?! Nobody's better than us, because we're rich!  
Yeah, they're definitely get richer, at least a few ice cream coupons taken from Morty. It's like they don't get enough of their own!

The beaten, crying, he was sitting in his room, not expecting any guests, and Mr. Sanchez's appearance shocked him.  
\- What am I doing here? - The old man squinted. - Aren't you glad to see me?  
Morty had a glance.  
\- N-no, but... n-no...  
What a bad luck it is to appear before your master in such an unsightly manner!  
\- I just thought I'd check on you, - Mr. Sanchez snuck up on the guy and took an ice pack from him. - You know, young people need an eye for an eye... They'll get into trouble!  
And he threw the ice pack over his shoulder without looking.  
\- And I was right...  
_Shit, shit, shit_ , it sounded like Morty's head was tucked in while he tried to sneak dirty socks under the bed. He felt extremely embarrassed, trying not to lift one and a half eyes at the engineer, and he didn't seem to like it.  
\- Quit bitching, - he left the C-137, digging behind his sinus. - And wipe your face!  
And in his hands appeared some tube without inscriptions.  
\- Come here...  
Morty raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the bright green mass being squeezed out of it's iron neck.  
\- W-what kind of medicine is that? I don't know what it is...  
\- No one knows, - Sanchez laughed quietly, grabbing him by the back of his neck. - My personal development... It's a secret, okay?  
Well, another mystery added to their piggy bank, and, obeying fate, Morty froze, feeling the dry hot fingers stroking his neck a little above the collar.  
As he froze, he endured the tingling of this unknown remedy. He tolerated Mr. Sanchez at such close range that his breath could be felt on his face, even touching the swollen, shivering upper eyelid...  
But the question that the owner routinely asked was too much for him.  
\- Why do you live alone in a room?  
Morty shuddered, looking out at his humble abode. A poster with female workers in the field, a scalded plaster, an old shaky table lined with a stack of crumpled notebooks and torn textbooks (one proudly lay aside). In principle, it was not such a bad dwelling - _and you can even masturbate if you hide under a blanket_ \- but he had a lump in his throat, and his heart beaten more strongly.  
\- Well... that's what the Dormitory Commandant ordered, Mr. Sanchez...  
But the answer was only a mocking snort.  
\- Morty, nothing has changed here since I was young. You think I'm old enough to forget that the only loosers would live in a solitary rooms?  
Painful, murderous honesty - the teachers beautifully called it "the punishment of excommunication", C-137 immediately put everything in place...  
Only those what retreated, weeping again rolled to the boy's throat, and he had to count for himself to calm down.  
\- What were you put away for, Morty?  
\- Uh, because... - he sobbed. - Because I was r-r-r-granting other children...  
\- And how is that? - Sanchez smiled, seeming genuinely unaware. - Was he showing everybody your ding-dong or something?  
Morty himself didn't fully understand, unable to find the reason why he'd been rejected, but it asked for the tongue, so simple and so nasty at the same time...  
\- Because they think I'm a savage...  
Well, there was piss on the pipes - he dropped himself in the eyes of the master even harder and could not stop, choking on tears.  
\- Oh, fucking hell. You fucking crybaby...  
And the old man, rolling his eyes, suddenly pressed him against himself.  
\- Quiet, calm down. We'll sort it out! Don't worry, dog...  
Morty, despite his tender age, almost had a heart attack.  
He couldn't move his forehead against Mr. Sanchez's chest. Feeling the rough fabric of the jumpsuit's skin, breathing in the light smell of alcohol and sweat, and stroking his hair, _God, what is happening to me..._  
\- I mean, they didn't give you the number, and they're punishing you for it? That's interesting!  
Actually, it wasn't just about "depravity." His last bedroom was huge, about a hundred places, but even there was no room for Morty, and after a few times he was beaten leadership decided that he should be evicted in order to avoid unnecessary problems...  
\- But you know what? I don't think it's a problem that you don't have a number. The fact that you're a stupid fuck, that's right, and that you're hysterical bitch, too, but it's not your origin, you hear?  
That's not exactly what he's been told.  
He mean, dumb and hysterical, that's exactly what they said, but about origin...  
\- Let's get out of here, motherfucker. I think there's a more useful way to spend a weekend than sitting here winding your snot on your fist!

***

Again and again, he's not enough of a little asshole in his life?  
For the first time in seventy years, Rick has stopped seeing logic in his own actions.  
Why the fuck does he care about Frank Paliki and his friends? _Do you know in which your place I'm want to shove these ice cream tickets?_  
Why does he care about the unimportant problems of an emotionally unstable teenager with swollen redness around his eyes (it's a good thing at least the bruise went away)?  
They committed the crime again. They left a robot in the dormitory, and they went out the first floor window like the last conspirators.  
Perhaps the Experimental Child is spreading unpredictability around him like uranium harmful radiation, and very soon Rick mutates and something falls off...

And again, Morty's out of his yellow skin. Once again he climbed under the blanket, staring at the old man with some strange wait-and-see look - that's right!  
Rick had already forgotten all about it.  
\- Do you want me to show you something, M-morty?  
\- Space?  
No, it was something much cooler than a fucking lamp, and C-137, pulling it out of a desk drawer, felt like an archaeologist of the past era, who showed the world another mummy of Pharaoh.  
\- Lost ancient manuscript!  
In his hands was an old, obviously twisted wet book with proleshings on the cover.  
\- The price of it was a nightmare, of course, and I was totally fucked for, but it was worth it, - C-137 winked. - You want to know what it is, don't you, Morty?  
Of course, the boy jumped up in excitement, _the kids love secrets_ , and Sanchez wouldn't torture him for long.  
He couldn't wait, but he honestly waited until the savage was around (and there was no logical reason for that either).  
\- So, - he coughed and read the title page. - Please meet with love - "Ugly Duckling"!


	7. Chapter 7

The story ended, and in complete silence, Rick closed the book.  
\- It was... what a weird fucking thing.  
He would've thought more, but his swearing limit's been exhausted for today.  
\- I mean... I mean, where does a swan egg come from in a duck's nest, and w-why do birds talk, and...  
\- I liked it, - whispered Morty, blissfully closing his eyes. - Especially the part where he flew off with the other swans...  
With a mocking sniff, Rick threw the book on the table.  
\- Whatever you say, - he exhaled as he unzipped his jumpsuit. - I hope the other legends from this manuscript will be more interesting!  
So they've been read - one fact of having this book in the apartment C-137 would be enough for the Jeweller to fry his brilliant brain with high-frequency electricity, and all this for the sake of talking ducks?  
\- Good night, Morty.  
\- Good night, Mr. Sanchez...  
Alas, for Rick that wish did not come true, because he had a bad dream.  
Some black, slimy nasty thing haunted him for a very, very long time, wrapping his neck and going to strangle him until through the nightmare he felt a shiver over his shoulder.  
\- Oh, sir? Sir...  
Rick was shaking a little, not knowing where reality is and where the fucking dream is, he moaned quietly - and suddenly he felt the touch of hot lips on his forehead...  
And that put everything in its place.  
Faced with his meaningful look, Morty flipped back as far as the limited space on the couch allowed.  
\- What the fuck are you doing?  
\- I... I saw the teachers do it to kids who don't sleep well, - the kid smiled nervously. - It's not like they're doing it to me, but still...  
In an angry sigh, the old man threw the blanket back.  
\- You're a fool, Morty, - he twisted as he lowered his bare feet to the floor. - I'm going to die soon, and you're trying to make me feel better like a dammit toddler?  
He went to one of his hiding places with one thought: " _It's time to finish this fucking repair at last_...  
\- No, I'd rather get drunk!   
***

Right in front of Morty was his mission, but all his thoughts were going somewhere wrong.  
\- Come by my place today? You'll probably need help with your next test, and besides...  
Mr. Sanchez's pencil rolled over the paper.  
\- Besides, we still have unread legends, you know what I mean?  
He wasn't exactly gonna turn down that offer.  
\- Of course I will, sir, - another cross section wasn't going to get it right. - Of course, sir...  
What a lame worker he is, he'll never be as skilled in drawing as the C-137!  
Trying to focus on his work, the boy was swaying on his master time and again. On gray hair, carelessly thrown from his forehead to the back of his head, on the rigid line of his lower jaw, on rolled up sleeves of clothes, opening wiry, overgrown with thick undercoat hands, which created the drawing on paper so easily, as if they were two parts of a perfect mechanism ...

Morty was still a long way off, which he had made sure of when he put his work to the test.  
\- Hey, Morty, - the engineer frowned as soon as he ran his eyes over a piece of paper. - You know what the ancient people did to the kids who counted crows in class?  
\- W-what?  
\- Beated their fucking ass! - and the blueprint flew back to its hapless creator. - And if you don't want to go back to the good old days, you'd better redo this fuckin' thing...  
Through the efforts of his master, the young man gave up all his homework and tests, and he filled in the practice diary correctly - but just now it's no use?  
Was it possible to write in that diary the most interesting thing that happened to him - sabotaging curfews, sleeping on someone else's couch, watching the space in the lamp, reading, after all, forbidden literature?

This time Rick gave him a book and said it was his turn to read, and Morty even had a little dizzy from that responsibility.  
So, it was their turn to read the second legend, the girl with the fish tail.  
\- "They looked sadly at the worrying sea foam, knew for sure that mermaid had thrown herself into the waves. Invisible, the mermaid kissed the beautiful bride on her forehead, smiled at the prince and climbed up with other children to the pink clouds of air" ...  
By the end of the story, Morty's voice was shaking and he barely made himself read everything, blinking often.  
\- Hey, you w-what are you crying, motherfucker?  
Damn, he won't embarrass himself again!  
\- N-No, - he answered, with air in his chest. - It's just... it's just a very sad story! Too sad... And unfair - she gave up everything for the prince, and... and...  
Shrugging his shoulders, the old man gently pulled the manuscript out of his hands.  
\- That was the reality in which the ancients lived, - he said, patting Morty on the shoulder. - Fortunately, today we are free from the weight of what they called 'love'... They didn't realize it was just a chemical reaction that encouraged animals to breed! Today's people don't need such centiments, and my reproducer will destroy the whole concept of "love" definitively... Isn't it beautiful, dog?  
Maybe it is, but the story of a sea princess from it in Morty's eyes hasn't become any more fun. The legend of the Duckling was much better!

Another day, another siren wail. Another night stolen from the state, in which he couldn't sleep.  
Mr. Sanchez snored with no hind legs, and he bit his lower lip thoughtfully looking at it.  
All sixteen years of Morty's life passed in proud solitude, even though there was always a crowd around. The other children didn't want him around, and the caretakers didn't hide the neglect, and he was so used to it that he couldn't even imagine anything else ...  
Morty was so afraid of his first day at work - he, and the factory, and such a prestigious, as "Prism"?! Oh, no way! He'd be laughed at there, dumped out in disgrace, kicked in the ass right away, he thought, but it came out quite differently.  
For the first time in his sad, dull years of existence, he met a man like that. Not someone like everyone else, a man who, though he was rude all the time, but who didn't really seem to care whether Morty had a number or not, is that really possible?  
It's possible, it's possible, and knowing it filled the boy with a strange feeling. The heat spilling somewhere under his ribs, the feeling that as long as the old grumpy engineer was around, everything would be fine...

So intoxicating, so unfamiliar - Morty first felt it so acutely, sitting in the dark next to a sleeping C-137.  
There was clearly not enough room in his little heart for so many emotions at once, and he didn't know how to deal with them. He only knew what he wanted, right here, right now he wants...  
Fucking hell.  
His sober mind came on too late, his shivering, shameless lips had already touched old man's wrinkled cheek.  
Mr. Sanchez was unhappy in his sleep, and he hurried to lie down, clutching the scream out of his mouth with both his hands.  
Lie down, turning away from the old man, squeezing and shaking, shaking, weary of something painful and at the same time...  
 _What the fuck I've just done?!_


	8. Chapter 8

You get used to any shit in your life, so C-137 got used to the constant presence of a small fool under his feet.  
He was even able to benefit from it - lack of brains didn't stop Morty from bringing coffee or running errands, or, when the old master was in the mood, hanging his ears for stories about fucking Rick's coolness...  
But he certainly wasn't ready for one thing - clumsiness.  
\- Wh-what the hell, - Morty cursed as he crawled under the table and collected the scattered paperclips. - Y-yeah, where are they...?  
He was just picking iron curls, and Sanchez, like a fool, was spellbound as he watched the wings of his little ass wrapped in overalls cloth.  
Up, down, sideways, the other, and...  
\- That's it! - Morty shaken a handful of paper clips on the table. - I got it all together, sir...  
\- Oh, yeah, -Rick swallowed as he hurried to turn around. - Since you're done crawling around here like a crab, can you hand me an eraser?  
An ordinary quiet day in a world of the future where mankind has only two troubles left - savages and the infection of personality.  
Nothing to worry about, nothing to care about, just do your thing, and everything will be fine...

But Rick had a personal, petty, but very painful pain in the ass named "Jessica." He didn't know her personally, but Morty had already wiped all his ears about her, and for god's sake, how annoying it was!  
The idiot's a minor, drooling, he's got it. He's gonna wait nineteen and fuck that fucking J-YASS-100...  
It must be because of her that the boy has recently begun to behave so strangely, stares at him with a bad look, twitches and constantly turns red - women are always the only trouble that in the modern era, that in the past!  
Morty's little pumpkin seems to have been doing a lot more lovemaking than his studies, because his drawings were still a little better than the skirting board.  
\- Yeah, - C-137 cried out, looking at the shit worthy of what the ancient people called modern art. - So you, M-morty, are not going far...  
\- Maybe I won't have to, - the kid shrugged his shoulders taking the job back, and Rick raised his eyebrow:  
\- What do you mean?  
\- I'll be transferred to a sausage factory soon, Mr. Sanchez...  
Okay, great. Just fucking great, from "Prizma" - and to some fucking factory, to take off the blades of cow's guts meat grinder, a great breakthrough in the career of this idiot!  
\- That's great, - Rick said, turning back to his drawing. - You're not gonna get on my nerves anymore, though...  
And the pencil he was squeezing in his fist, with a quiet crunch, broke in two pieces.  
***  
Why hasn't the Crown Party come up with a set of laws to protect it's citizens from extremely stupid acts?  
Morty knew that visiting the C-137 wouldn't do him any good, but still couldn't refuse another visit.  
The reason was serious - the old man had finally finished fixing his bedroom.  
In the air still smelled a little fresh paint, but the situation was already alive, though poor - hanging on the walls of graphics and drawings, neatly, along the line, made a bed, only a few dead flies on the table spoiled the picture ...  
The guy smelled with his skin that it wasn't that simple, and he wasn't wrong.  
\- Morty, - the master turned to him. - Remember what I said about our little secrets?  
You'll forget about that!  
\- That you'd fuck me the fuck up and piss on my grave if I even thought of reporting, - Morty answered without a stutter, and Mr. Sanchez, smiling, rubbed him on the head.  
\- That's a good boy.  
Of course, it was not a matter of repair, because C-137, having decomposed the flies in some order of his own, waved his hand:  
\- Voila!  
And part of the wall in front of the deceased Morty drove away, opening... another room.

There was a place in his eye to run, a box of alcohol. A white robe hanging on a hook at the entrance, shelves of some kind of literature (and pornographic magazines, with sacred horror he noticed), jars of frogs in alcohol, anatomical models, some medical instruments, a couple of rats quietly digging in a cage...  
\- I took a nursing course when I was young, - Mr. Sanchez explained confusedly. - And teacning all by myself lately...  
Figures of unknown characters, unpacked lollipops, a strange thing like an ancient torture instrument with a needle. A table on which there were some hardware, a rack with test tubes and flasks, something like a giant gun without a handle. A twisted sheet of Watman on the floor and a model of a cosmos glued together from paper, proudly standing aside from this mess...  
\- Do you like it? - with undisguised pride asked the old man when he picked her up. - Right here, - he pointed to the Watman, - are the calculations for the construction of the "Eternity" spaceship, and when I'm finally finished, this little one will be racing through galaxies!  
Of course, Morty couldn't help but admire that perspective.  
\- And then our humanity will finally be rid of its earthly shackles?..  
Sanchez's whole fuse suddenly disappeared from that naive question.  
\- Yes, Morty, - he sighed as he stopped smiling and put the paper "Eternity" in its place. - Mankind...  
What's wrong?  
The mood in the room has clearly not changed for the better, and to defuse the situation, the boy asked about the appointment of the big gun.  
\- Oh, it's... it's much cooler than some ship, Morty, this thing, it's... It's helping to move to other worlds!  
\- Other worlds...?  
It's been very difficult to imagine - do they exist, these worlds?  
\- Of course, dog, don't ask stupid questions, - said the engineer. - You have too much planetary mindset to imagine how you and I can just get out of here and find ourselves in a different reality... In an infinite number of realities...  
In confirmation of his words, Mr. Sanchez shot this cannon into the wall, creating two glowing blue funnels, and, running up to one of his anatomical dummies, ripped some of it out.  
\- The first one goes! - the plastic part flew into the first hole to fall out of the second in a few seconds...  
Burned.  
\- Oh, - Morty was upset. - Mr. Sanchez, your heart...  
\- Nonsense, - said the old man, spinning the spoiled model between his fingers with squeamish interest. - It's a shame, of course, but it's better to buy a new one than to fix the old one, eh?  
And he threw his heart over his shoulder without looking.  
\- The portal gun's still got some work to do, but let's not talk about it now, okay?  
Morty was watching with some tension as the red jet of wine poured into the glass... two glasses.  
\- Will you drink from two vessels, sir?  
The master only smiled, fingering over a stack of ancient audio sources.  
\- Look, motherfucker, - he lovingly stroked one of the flat paper packages. - It was even signed, and where...? That's right, there he is. Snake jazz!  
And by shaking a black pancake with a hole in the middle of the box, C-137 put it in a torture chamber. Something sizzled, and the fucking music played...  
\- Isn't that awesome, M-morty? That's my jam!

Morty couldn't hold back a smile while watching Mr. Sanchez wriggle to a strange, frightening, but surprisingly pleasant tune...  
He began to trample on himself, and then, unable to resist, danced like the last sinner. How, perhaps, savages dance at their bonfires during the sacrifices - and he was not even ashamed!  
True, the fun was lost somewhere abruptly, when C-137 again took up his glasses, extending one to him.  
\- Have a drink.  
A guy like that wasn't ready for that - okay, dance, but alcohol?!  
\- No, no, sir, what are you, I'm... I'm not gonna...  
\- _No, you will._  
The thin leg of the glass was suddenly caught in his sweat sticky, slightly shaking hand.  
\- Morty, you're in my secret room, - - Mr. Sanchez was hovering over him, burning his eyes. - You broke the rules, you saw and heard so many wrong things, you had to be executed ten times at least, and after that you'll give up the wine?  
His heart suddenly smelled somewhere in his heels, and he, like a spellbound, didn't resist when C-137 intertwined his hand holding the glass with his.  
\- Come on, baby. You're gonna love this...  
Snake jazz was rattling in my ears. Mr. Sanchez was so close, and there was only mockery in his eyes, as if he knew in advance that Morty could not resist him, that he would not refuse, that he would give in and let the juice of sin into his body...  
And he gave up.

The boy drank this cursed wine, which at first seemed disgusting to him before the tears entered the corners of his eyes, but then he got warm and felt the distant taste of grapes.  
\- Mr. Sanchez...  
\- Finish this drink, - he obeyed, not without inner effort, having finished the whole glass, and, shaken, stabbed his forehead into the chest of his abuser.  
He seems to have felt sick.  
\- Well, that's it, boy. I guess you've had enough!  
Siren call had already missed, and Morty was lying in bed, or rather on the couch as it should be, all red and a distinctive smell.  
\- Jessica, - he muttered in his sleep, turning over. - J-Jessica...  
He didn't even move when the pillow hit him in the head.  
\- Idiot, - Rick cried out as he turned away. - Little, worthless, rubbing his ding-dong, drunk from one glass!..  
He didn't even have the right curse to describe his feelings.  
His only salvation was work, and he snapped his ballpoint pen outraged.  
He moved a piece of paper towards him and wrote a wide, aggressive headline on it: "Reference"...


	9. Chapter 9

The ancients considered the night to be the most dangerous time of day, and they had their reasons - drunkards, thieves and other trash roamed the dark streets with impunity, spreading evil and vice, but fortunately things were different in the Diamond Republic. The order was simple and inviolable - daytime activity, night silence, and who would dare to go against the very structure of the universe?  
At least one person, exactly...

That night Morty woke up from a knock on his window and could barely contain his panic attack as Mr. Sanchez stood outside smiling to his ears.  
Wearing a dirty jumpsuit and barely holding on to his two...  
\- Oh, my God, what are you doing?! Y-you could get arrested!  
\- Y-you don't fear, cunt, - mumbled C-137, clumsily trying to throw your leg over the window sill. - All the way...  
Nothing like that, Morty didn't understand how he had the strength to get a drunk old man into a room.  
The horror he was experiencing couldn't be described in words!  
\- I'm visiting, Mooorty, I'm juust visiting you...  
\- Yeah, of course, visiting, - the guy mumbled, trying to get him to bed. - Uh, can you get some rest?  
Fortunately, the destruction and drunken songs were gone, and Mr. Sanchez soon got most of his bed, and Morty had to settle in for a while...  
Visiting, for fuck's sake!   
Is it worth talking about how broken he was by morning, and what noise rose in the dormitory after some guys found piles of faeces under the doors?

Mr. Sanchez, fortunately, woke up just before the siren. He jumped back out the window, holding on to his humming head, and Morty had a series of nightmares after his antics.  
Nightmares, where his master was arrested, interrogated, and tried for breaking curfews and drinking, but time went by, and the Rundist servants never came to the soul of the C-137, and gradually sticky, suffocating fear left Morty, having gone somewhere deep in his consciousness.

The nights had been very hard for him lately, and his sleep hadn't been going to him.  
It's been happening more and more often. More and more often, Morty was drowning screams and moans in his pillow, receiving his disgusting, sinful pleasure, and the white liquid was spilling out on his fingers, along with tears running down his cheeks.  
He liked Jessica. He did, but he hadn't even looked for her lately. He felt kind of... different from usual. More sensitive, more fussy...  
And more unclean.  
When did things get so complicated? When did Morty start thinking about things that didn't make any sense, and why were they tearing his head apart so painfully?

He pretended to be preparing for Mini Consent Day with everyone, but the festive commotion didn't occupy him. I'm afraid to say he'd rather march all day long listening to Mr. Sanchez's scolding than march with other children!  
Of course, their voices had no weight yet. They were just rehearsing, preparing for the day when they could walk fully on the square on the feast of Concord, but it had to be taken very seriously already.  
Posters and banners, drums and trumpets - and he looked at the sadly hung flag with a sparkling diamond on it like something unfamiliar. Something that had suddenly lost its colour...  
\- Morty, will you come with me?  
Usually he'd walk alone at the end of the column like a fool, swallowing dust from under someone else's feet, and before that, Jessica's suggestion would have taken him to heaven, but this time he just squeezed out a polite smile.  
\- Whatever you want...  
A motley column of schoolboys has moved on.  
\- We agree! We'll do it! We'll do it!  
The boy forced himself to open his mouth, chanting with everyone, but the corners of his mouth seemed to rust and the air came out of his lungs with difficulty.  
\- We... agree, - he wheezed, it gets quieter every time. - We... agree...  
Jessica, so beautiful, with ribbons in her hair and overalls unbuttoned on her chest, didn't occupy his mind, and even the smile that turned toward him, gradually replaced by a perplexing grimace, passed by Morty.  
\- Uh, uh... uh, uh...  
He wasn't looking, he tripped, couldn't keep up anymore. He looked over his heads, over banners and flags on a gray, frowning sky, dropping rare drops of rain, and the warmth of unity could no longer protect him from bad weather.  
Morty felt as if he'd been hit by a bubble. Into an invisible dense shell, from where he could only look at everyone, but not be with everyone, and the realization of this fell on his soul with an unbearable weight.  
\- W-We... we...!  
Everyone was silent.  
Everyone stopped chanting long ago, and only he desperately tried to squeeze out the words that define the life of any number.  
\- Morty...?  
Everybody looked at him with horror and disgust, including Jessica, who obviously overpowered herself and touched his shoulder...  
\- Aah! - the girl recoiled, frightened by his scream, and the flag tree that had fallen from Morty's hands hit the asphalt deafly.  
He was suffocating. He felt like a beast driven in corner. He couldn't stand those looks anymore, so he ran away from the column...  
***  
The day was lame - Rick just worked eight hours, that's all...  
He must have become a masochist because he was too quiet. Things didn't go well without whining over his ear, flapping his eyes, asking him stupid questions, Morty gave him the day off for this stupid holiday.  
Rick tried reading legends, and one of them wasn't interested. Is he sick or something?

There's a contradiction - there's an antidote, so he poured vodka on it and started working on the design of the wings of "Eternity", but suddenly the doorbell rang, and literally from the doorstep a shaking, roaring pussy rushed up his neck...  
He had to hurriedly close the door with three locks.  
\- Y- What's wrong with you, dog? What the fuck is wrong with you?!  
The asshole just hiccups and sobs, can't explain his hysteria, but after a good slap their dialogue at least somehow got better.  
\- Mr. Sanchez, I'm... I'm si... - ...whining that pain in the ass rubbing the red cheek... - I'm very, very sick...  
Ugh, Jesus Christ. And that's why there's so much whining?!  
\- Morty, calm down! Everyone's in treatment now, isn't they? Well, almost everybody... I'm sure that doctors, they'll help you... Wait, what kind of sickness it is?   
C-137 was ready to hear about anything from cancer to tuberculosis, but no.  
Sobbing, this little disaster, this fucking Experimental Child lifted his wet eyes at him and quietly, but with absolute confidence in his words:  
\- A individuality...


	10. Chapter 10

\- Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!  
Rick miraculously held back the rushing curse flow, grabbed his head, but quickly took control of his emotions.  
\- Go wash your face, - he left Morty quickly, turning around. - We'll think of something now!  
Jesus, this is fucked up. How could this even happen?!  
Sitting in a secret room with a helmet on his head that looked like a colander, Morty watched anxiously as Rick quickly flipped through the pages of a huge anatomy book.  
\- Uh, maybe I should see a doctor?..  
This timid suggestion made the C-137's bowels curl up into a node of madness as soon as he introduced Morty to a salivating vegetable with a darkened head, so his response was categorical:  
\- No! - And he ran his finger over one of the headlines. - That's it, brain diseases... Maybe there's something about individuality...?  
And by slipping one eye on the frontal lobe image in the cut, he pressed the remote control button.  
\- Ow! - After getting electrocuted, the kid jumped in a chair. - W-what... what are you doing?!  
\- I'm treating you, - Rick said coldly, moving his gaze from his patient to the pages of the book and back. - Feeling better?  
\- Not really...  
He turned up the power and pressed the button again, making Morty shake.  
\- And now?  
\- N-now I'm hurt too...  
The experiment didn't work. After a few tries, this pussy gave up, ripped off his helmet and refused to continue treatment.

It's bad - they need to urgently defeat the individuality, because this jerk already seriously fucked up, running away from the march!  
If he had had the chance, Sanchez would have gladly done a deep study. He would have dug into the Experimental Child's brain trying to find the source of the disease, but alas, he could only have helped with one thing.  
\- Drink!  
Morty tried to fuck off, but he wouldn't listen, just ripping the cork off the bottle of whiskey with his teeth, forcefully opening the asshole's mouth and pouring as much as he could into the precious, flawlessly smoothing fluid.  
Of course, Morty did not appreciate that effort and broke out, coughing and spitting - as long as something got inside!  
\- That's enough, sir, I'm... I'm sick as it is! I'm so confused, I... I must tell you that I...  
The blush that suddenly poured all over Morty's face was clearly unrelated to the booze. And the shivering hands and the running gaze are both to blame.  
\- I... I love you, Mr. Sanchez...  
_For fuck's sake._  
\- W-what...?  
The earth almost went out from under his feet, when this crazy kid, tiptoeing up and pulling the designer by the collar, clumsily, but quite deliberately tried to peck him on the lips, and he, ripping off the pussy, could say something only by attaching to the rejected whiskey.  
\- Y-Y-You're just sick, M-morty, - Rick was able to keep the calm tone with the lunatics with a lot of effort. - How do you know what that feeling is? None of today's people can love anything but the Republic...  
The guy didn't answer right away, but when he looked up at the engineer, something appeared in his eyes that had never been seen before. Something that Rick had no idea about... something he was hardly ready to face.  
\- Tell me, Mr. Sanchez, - Morty said, suddenly, clutching his fists. - Why do you curtain windows and build robots? Why do you want banned literature, alcohol, music, why do you want all this stuff, why... - his voice trembled. - Why do you need _me?_  
Clenching his jaws, Rick turned his back, barely holding back his instinctive urge to put the boy in his eye.  
\- You? Don't need you to flatter yourself, - he gurgled while rubbing whiskey. - Everyone here breaks the rules at least sometimes, if you didn't know. Absolutely everybody, though they'll never admit it...  
\- That's it? Does everyone have a bloody secret room in their apartment?! - snapped at Morty screaming with his foot stomped. - Yeah, yeah, these few fucking square meters of space that neither Rundist nor the Crown nor even the Jeweler himself can look at, because... because you want them to belong to you alone! Because you're fucking _hiding_ , you want to own something undivided, it's you, you have a fucking personality, and you infected me with it! It's your fault, Mr. Sanchez, it's yours!  
There were black flies dancing in Rick's eyes.  
\- I'm not sick, - he wheezed. - Unlike you...  
And in the end, he turned around abruptly, grabbing Morty's breasts.  
\- Look, you, - he growled in the frightened kid's face. - I've worked for the Republic all my fucking live, and you have no idea how much I've given for it! I'm absolutely fucking normal! I do whatever the Republic wants from me, I give it whatever it wants, just...  
The anger that came over him suddenly went somewhere, and C-137 loosened his fingers, releasing the yellow cloth.  
\- I... I just don't let it get inside my head, you know?  
And he covered his face with both his trembling palms.  
\- Y-yes, I'm holding this room, so what? Well, it's not that much in my years of loyal service, and... and besides, I know how to control myself. I don't make all my contradictions for public...  
Rick threw up - literally, physically, and turning his back on Morty, he could only pass a sentence:  
\- Get out.  
Morty's frightened exclamation cut his nerves with a razor.  
\- B-but...  
\- Get out, - he whispered, squeaking his teeth. - There's nothing I can do for you!  
Any normal person would have gotten his feet out of here by now, but not the Experimental Child, which whole existing contradicting very notion of logic.  
\- Uh, please...  
Morty went to a forbidden reception - he crashed his forehead into the back of C-137, grabbing his hands on his stomach, and from such impudence even the gift of speech was lost.  
\- I-I... - sobbing. - I... I really love you, please. I... I... I feel so bad, sir, I'm... I'm so corrupted that I have nothing left!  
\- _Nothing_ , you say?  
A bad grin came up on Rick's face with a new fucking idea that was vaguely twisted in his head.  
_Let's see you sing now, bitch..._  
\- Fuck! - sure a blow to the back of the head against the wall didn't go unnoticed for the boy, but Sanchez didn't give a fuck. - W-what are you...  
But he wouldn't give a fucking deal, roughly shutting that dirty, whiskey-smelling mouth with a kiss.  
\- W-what, you like that, don't you? You asked for it yourself, you piece of shit...  
It's just crazy what he'd gotten to - for courage, and with a minor, he was definitely waiting for the electric chair, but Rick couldn't even tell you how much he didn't give a fuck.  
He was never a pedophile, all he wanted to do was teach the rascal a lesson, make him break out and shiver in fear, begging for mercy, to show him all the beauty of fucking "love" and beat out forever from the whirlpool head all the contradictory nonsense ...  
But it didn't work.

The little fists were beating into his chest - fast at first, then weaker and weaker, and suddenly Rick realized that his tongue, which had penetrated into someone else's mouth with such a deliberate impudence, no longer met with resistance.  
Worse, Morty began to answer, first barely, then more actively, though without the slightest skill, wrapping his hands around the neck of C-137 and thoughtlessly short hair on the back of his head.  
With a traces of tears on a face, pressed against the wall, he made no more attempts to free himself, looking into the old man's eyes with some abnormal in this situation calm - _do they still have anything normal?_  
\- Look at me, Morty... You think you've got nothing left, but I can easily take _something else_ , doesn't that scare you?

What's to hide, Rick always had a weakness for control in his heart, he always liked to dominate people, and right now he's suddenly taken a scientific interest - how far will the kid let him go in his sick, desperate submission?  
\- Take it, - Morty whispered, taking his eyes away. - T-take whatever you want, Mr. Sanchez...  
Oh, really?  
Judging by the shiver and the crimson face, he clearly didn't feel as brave as he wanted to, but the C-137 didn't stop it.  
\- Call me Rick, - he whispered as he slowly pulled the zipper of the yellow jumpsuit down. - We're going to get closer to each other soon, aren't we, dog?  
What could be more beautiful than an punishment for unauthorized intercourse?  
Rick has always loved to do things he wasn't allowed, and this time he's already had the pure moral pleasure of helping Morty get out of the sleeves of his banana peel.  
Only white was left under the skin, and he crossed this boundary unceremoniously, pulling up a thin shirt and pressing his lips to a pink nipple.  
\- W-what are you... y-you... R-rick...  
Uh, as soon as he got here, scumbag, Rick thought with gloat and satisfaction as he continued his black business. He wasn't doing anything special, but Morty's foolish weasels had already begun to be carried into the shield, and the bulge in the children's white panties was getting harder and harder, and those groans!  
Just a peep, not a painting, but he wasn't enough.  
\- F- Fuck the Crown, - he muttered as he continued to slip off Morty's jumpsuit. - And let the Jeweller personally kiss my ass because you're not theirs, you're just _mine_ , you understand?  
The whole secret room came out with a complaining scream when he grabbed his teeth into the thin skin on a young man's neck, leaving his predatory mark.  
\- It's just me and you for a hundred years and eternity, isn't it, M-morty?  
\- Yeah, um...  
There was everything in that look except rationality - all lust and madness, and Rick couldn't say for sure what he didn't like it.

The chicken outfit, along with his shoes, stood aside, and Morty, under pressure from strange hands, slowly knelt down, then on all fours.  
Touching his own excitement through the rough fabric of his work clothes, the old man looked at him and smiled, looking forward to an unforgettable experience.  
Also down on the floor, he slowed down a little before pulling down his underwear, and Morty, shuddering, covered his flaming face with his hands.  
Such a sweet embarrassment, and such a shameless pose, Rick licked himself, casting his greedy eyes over everything that was open to his eyes.  
\- You must obey me in everything, - he wheezed, slowly stroking his goosebumps. - Otherwise I'm going to give you a good time, you h-hear? - and as proof of his thought, he imprinted his palm in a soft place. - I'm gonna give you a f-full, you dirty, lecherous b-boy...  
Whatever happened in his secret room has never happened before.  
The walls hadn't yet been made public with a complaint cheekbone, no one's short bitten fingernails had scraped this floor trying to find some kind of support, no one had ever bent in his back so tempting as if he was putting on a personal erotic show for Rick...

It was impossible to endure it for a long time, and, unbuttoning the overalls with shaking hands already on himself, he did not forget to get a tube of homemade ointment from behind the sinus.  
\- It's gonna pinch, M-morty, but y-you're gonna have to put up with it, right?  
He squeezed the green mass on his fingers without sorry, and, holding his breath, tried to insert it into the compressed hole.  
\- D-darn!  
Not the most pleasant side effect of the ointment, added to the unusual sensations, made the kid wrinkle and whine, instinctively trying to get rid of foreign objects inside, but Rick kept him in place, whispering some nonsense.  
\- That's it, M-morty, - he mumbled, trying to distract him with kisses on the top of shoulders. - It's gonna pass now, baby, now...  
When did he even start to hesitate during sexual intercourse?!  
The hot walls were tight around the phalanges, and C-137 was dizzy to see how tight Morty was. Tight, but malluable at the same time...  
\- Aah!  
Finally he tried it - having felt the movement in himself, the bitch started to scream, trying to wiggle backwards towards his master's hand, and it couldn't help gladdening.  
\- Do you like that, doggy?  
Morty turned over his shoulder, all red, with a foggy, crazy look and a quivering smile on his skilled lips.  
\- Y-yes, - he confessed in embarrassment. - Your fingers, they're... they're so much better than mine...  
Rick even froze for a second from such revelations.  
\- Oh, that's how it is, - he grinned, suddenly bent his fingers deeper and pulled another moan out of the poor child. - Oh, you little devil...  
He'll be sure to see it later. He'll be sure to see that spoiled sucker play himself, but not now.  
Now he was preparing to taste such impudent stolen from the state unripe berries, for which the brains in the electric chair are not regret to fry.  
He taunted poor Morty, spending his considerable penis between his buns, his hard head resting on a wet ointment anus. Giving him a full sense of his size, but not entering - and finally, mockingly enough, grabbed the guy under his thighs, piling on his back...  
\- Riiick!...  
Stop - keep going. Freeze again, and again further, gradually kicking the narrow ass on your cock. See the sweat stain that appeared on the white T-shirt between the shoulder blades, hear the voice breaking off, crying out your name...  
_Isn't it all legal? Is all this normal?_

They've deviated from the party line, the Republic line and common fucking sense. They became one on the fucking floor, their rhythm was disorganized, their thoughts were vicious, and there was nowhere to go from the madness hanging in the air like a virus...  
And the only thing they could count on in this chaos was themselves.  
\- Wait a minute!  
With an incredible effort of will, Sanchez forced himself to stop, with some regret watching his organ come out of the stretched hole.  
\- N-not here, - he muttered, kissing Morty on the wet temple. - N-not here...  
Just a few steps, and how hard they seemed!  
The two lunatics fell out of the secret room with a ball of wobbly Rick and the naked Morty hanging around his neck, and the act of their moral fall continued in the bedroom.  
Finally, getting rid of the fucking stirring jumpsuit, the engineer settled between his boy's thin legs, spreading them apart even harder. As if it was his fault he stroked the rubbed, red knees from standing on the floor, spitting on his fingers, just in case he added moisture before entering again, but it seems that he didn't really need it.  
\- M-morty, - the bed squeaked long, and C-137, closing his eyes, clenched his jaws to the crunch of enamel on his teeth. - Mooorty...  
_Mine, fucking hell. He's just mine!_  
All the foundations of the Republic collapsed fucking with every move of an old asshole ruthlessly dragging a sick child on his dick.  
And the child wouldn't mind, throwing his legs on him and hugging his shoulders with shaking hands, and could they stop?  
Would they have stopped even at gunpoint from Rundist?  
\- Rick, I'm... I'm l-l-l-l'm... Riick...  
He never thought he'd enjoy listening to his own name like that.  
Even though the boy was crazy, he still liked the way he moaned. The way he bit his lips and drove his eyebrows away from particularly strong tremors, the way red stains poured on his skin, and the way it was especially pleasant to fill his tight cavity with his seed... And, of course, to send the boy after him. To lead him to the peak with a couple of skillful touches on his cock and, watching him bend out in his first adult orgasm, tired of celebrating victory...  
It was more of a defeat, though.

They had fucking problems, and Morty was still to be rescued from the consequences of his escape from the march, but Rick decided to leave it all behind.  
Hugging a fragile one so unlike his own body, he was tired of thinking that he probably wouldn't mind repeating those races regularly.  
Why? There's nothing to lose anyway, and with a lousy kid you can have a good time at leisure. Teach him how to suck, and everything...  
He already had ambitious plans, and, closing his eyes in his sleep, the old man smiled.  
_In the end, he always liked to do the wrong things..._

***

Rick woke up from the cold in a wrinkled bed and realized Morty wasn't around.  
It was still dawn outside and the siren hadn't come out yet. It felt like five or six in the morning...  
Quack, C-137 got out of bed. Why don't he make for baby some coffee?  
The empty living room caused a parade of goosebumps for some reason.  
\- M-morty! - He called, and no one answered. It was only from the open bathroom door that the lights went out, but when he came in, he didn't see anybody again.  
Only when he looked into the sink did he feel sick, for there were lumps of cotton with brown spots and a scalpel from his personal supplies, with a tip also covered in blood. And a little further away there was an open bottle of antiseptic and an unwrapped bandage...

The bell at the door made him jump.  
\- M-morty! What the fuck are you...  
Deceived in the first second, the old man was sedated, finally admitting his creation.  
\- Mail delivery, - Morty the robot announced monotonous and handed him a piece of paper and dropped his front face panel with a sense of accomplishment.

With a bad feeling of unfolding this paper, Rick ran his eyes through the uneven lines and, oh, slowly crawled down the wall...  
"Dear Rick!  
I'm sorry to say goodbye through the note, because otherwise I wouldn't have had the courage to look into your eyes. I spent sixteen years trying to escape the truth, sixteen years trying to prove to the world that I'm worth something more, but you revealed the truth to me - I am a savage! And now I have no excuses not to be myself. And, unfortunately, I have to leave you...  
No one has ever treated me like you, and I love you, Rick, I love you with all my pathetic savage soul, and that's why we can't be together. I have no control over my emotions. I'm torn by contradictions, I don't know what's right and what's wrong anymore, and my irrational behavior can put you at risk too! That's why I left to be reunited with my people. Don't look for me! Live on, be happy, and maybe one day you'll find someone to look at the stars and read legends with too...

Yours, and no one else's,

Mortymer."


	11. Chapter 11

Things were already floating a little bit before Rick's eyes while he was pouring himself another shot of whiskey.

Just a few hours ago he broke away from the Rundist servants, who were trying to detect if he had noticed anything strange about Morty's behavior.

Of course, Rick played the best possible card, repeating in different ways with his stone face that he was just talking to the guy on work-related matters and teaching him his craft, no more, and no matter how hard the valiant law enforcement agencies struggled, they never managed to catch him on anything.

The search continued, a case of a sudden outburst of individuality had already been reported to the public, and a mass inspection of the schoolchildren in Morty's immediate vicinity had begun in case anyone else get an infection and he...

And he moved on.

Lived exactly the same way as all seventy years before, the ideal performer of commands, obedient screw in the system, only now even booze did not help to smooth out the contradictions.

_So where did you go, you moron?_

Surely Morty isn't alive anymore - a civilized man can't survive abroad Republic, can't you hope for something else?

The Experimental Child disappeared from his life as suddenly as he appeared, leaving only questions and this stupid letter lying on the table in front of him, crumpled and crumpled...

"Yours, and no one else's, Mortimer" - these words in C-137 had already been imprinted on the ocular bottom, and still he reread them over and over again, squeaking his teeth with rage: _if you admit to being mine, how dare you run away?_

If he had the chance, he'd have taught the lousy guy a proper lesson for such a twist, whooped his ass properly, but... but there was no chance left.

Find somebody else? Ha!

Morty must have wanted to calm him down, but to the old man, it looked like an evil mockery.

He's just a grumpy old stump who's seen everything in his life, and he must have gone crazy at sunset of his life. No production merit, a place at the top of the leadership "Prizm", forbidden things, even outcast whores, so cool at sucking his dick - all this made no sense in his eyes compared to some clumsy, stupid boy in yellow, created in the head of the great designer a hurricane of unsystematic throughs...

Two legends, two stories about a duckling and a sea lady. Sanchez read them at least as much as a letter, and still couldn't understand what Morty had found in those silly fables, why did he like them so much?

If he couldn't find an answer, this time he switched to another legend about a crazy boy with shards of mirror in his body.

Rick was reading about a stupid girl throwing her shoes in the river trying to get that madman back, and he sluggishly thought, "No, Gerda, it doesn't work like that, you stupid fool, he's not there, and he's not coming back to you because he sees things differently than they really are..."

_What's the point of even looking for this Kai? Let this little bastard freeze the fuck out there as he deserves, you little thing..._

He must have taken too much whiskey.

The contradictions were smoothed out only with a complete cut of consciousness, and the old man snored, stuck his face in the ancient pages that survived so many era's...  
***  
The branches were crunching under Morty's feet as he wandered through the forest.

It was quiet here, except for the rare birds singing. The sun was breaking through the trees, but it was pretty dark because of their thickness...

And scary.

Even scarier than when he miraculously bypassed the patrol robots and snuck into his dorm at night. He wrote a letter to Rick, stole some food, medicine, took a change of clothes, and a drawing textbook. Morty knew it wouldn't do any good in forest, but he just couldn't leave it behind.

So he walked through the woods, with the bag over his shoulder and neck, rewound with a bandage.

How will the savages accept him? Will they believe he is one of them, or will they kill him on sight?

Whatever his fate may be, Morty's already come to terms with everything.

Does he have anything else to lose?

Individuality equals loneliness, so he felt like a piece of it. Sick, infected, crazy, no chance of fitting in, and his own lust overshadowed his mind at some point!

He stole his own innocence from the Republic, to give it to Rick, to give this pathetic gift on a silver platter, he allowed to do everything with himself, and it was... _good._

It was so good that Morty had forgotten how stupid he was. How sick and damaged he was that he let himself want a man, and so old, what an idiot!

It's not possible. Unimaginable. It's nauseating.

If only he could keep that secret a secret. If only his feelings were known only by a pillow that takes on the complaining moans at night, everything could be fine, _in the end, everybody breaking the rules_ \- but no!

His self-control was lost. He framed the Republic by running away from the demonstration, and he stained himself, surrendering like the last savage to another man on the floor of a secret room...

The realization did not come at once - only the whirlwind of a new, unexplored feeling swept before his eyes, and now, the young man found himself alone. Sitting in the bathroom under the warm jets of the shower and quietly sobbing, and his hot tears, mixed with tap water, disappeared into the plum.

This body had lost its purity - feeling a little dizzy, he touched between his buttocks, where was itching and hurting, and shaken in quiet sobs, stuck his forehead in the cold edge of the bath, feeling exactly what Rick called him. A dirty, shameless boy...

Morty's lost. Morty didn't know what to do next, but one thing he was sure of was that he could no longer stay in the Republic.

With his unstable behavior he had already caused trouble and would do more, so he had to leave.

Sneak past sleeping Mr. Sanchez on tiptoes to take his scalpel and slightly adjust his appearance, clutching his mouth with his hand so as not to make any sounds. Get together, get dressed, and run without looking back, for the guy wasn't sure he wouldn't want to stay if he hesitated for even a second.

In his madness, he was capable of anything!

The savages are still out of his way. The forest remained strangely quiet, and Morty, tired, decided to take a break.

He wanted to sit on a stump, but his butt was hurting too much, so he had to put a soft pillow in the shape of a piece of his clothes. He drank some water, ate an energy bar, and moved on without knowing where or why...

The lake?

A deer drinking by the shore turned sharply to the crunch of twigs and, with his ears shaken, ran away from Morty, and he led him away with a gaze with some guilt for worrying.

A light ripple from the feet of the swim beetles ran across the surface of the lake. The reeds were swaying slightly from the wind, and the guy, tired of breathing and closing his eyes, began unwinding the bandage around his neck.

He didn't believe he was capable of doing this to himself, but what's there to be surprised about? He's out of his mind!

It must have been weird, but Morty couldn't leave the Republic without getting his number, even if he'd done it himself.

The lake was as clear and clear as crystal, and he could see the fish swimming in the depths, and on the surface, he saw himself so clearly for the first time in his life.

These crazy eyes, these shredded hair, traces of illegal kissing on the skin - that's what he was, a hybrid of a civilized man and a savage, a unique Experimental Child with bloody numbers carved into the skin with the tip of a scalpel.

At the age of sixteen he did get his number, and that number was simple and short...

"С-137".


End file.
